Regression
by Traxer
Summary: A strange rabbit is found in Mossflower and regression begans. As a Redwall recorder watches and writes, something begans to spread amoung the Abbeybeasts... Updated: Part 4: Conclusion
1. Chapter 1

_This is to be story told from the point of view of a normal recorder at Redwall. This story will takethe horrible fear of the 'fall' of Redwall into another view, in the grim sense of..._

**Regression**

O O O

"To all those who find themselves in Mossflower. Please, let your paws lead you to Redwall Abbey."

That is an old familiar quote from the manuscripts that I have read. In every recorder's passages, their stories always ended with that phrase: a welcome to all those who were in need of help and believed in peace.

It is that quote that brought me to be moving the quill upon this parchment now, my paws becoming ever more stained by the black ink. The scritching of the tip on the paper intermingles with the sounds of spring and playing Dibbuns just outside the Gatehouse door. I can admit that I am tempted to join them, for I am not far from Dibbunhood myself. My duties come first now, though as the temptation grows I can be sure that my paw will not stay at this task for long. The blissful joy and insuppressible optimism of the Dibbuns is one of the infinite brightnesses of our Abbey. In these current seasons, Redwall Abbey needs these bright points.

Unlike the elders, I shall not try to make our life as sweet sounding as candied chestnuts. That may have been true before this time. In the past seasons, the candied chestnuts have turned stale. The Abbey has been peaceful for the past many seasons. The Abbey has also been deteriorating under our footpaws and no one seems to notice. Nobeast cares about the foundation our Abbey was built on. Abbeybeasts only care about the present and treat the past quests and tribulations that Redwall has survived as if they were pieces of myth that only Dibbuns are nieve enough to believe.

I am not ignorant, I know that most of the elders don't take me seriously anymore. I don't really care for their approval. It has been hinted more than once that I should forego my duties as recorder of our Abbey, that writing our history is no longer needed, that these are different and more developed times.

There is something developing. It is not hope, or love, or joy, or innocence, or knowledge. It is a blackness that is floating over our ramparts, over the stones as the moss and vine are creeping, spreading over the hearts of the beasts within these walls.

Stories of our past have not been read in our Cavern Hole for many long seasons. Once or twice, I attempted to carry on the tradition, to use my rhetoric to paint the grand tapestry of the past to these blissful and ignorant times. The audience was never interested and soon left after I had started, leaving me to speak only to a few Dibbuns.

The Dibbuns are the only hope for Redwall Abbey, I know it.

I know I this is not part of my recording duties, to write my fears and concerns of our Abbey. I should convey the trivialities that make up our life without any mention of the darkness. I should remain unaware of any mark of perfection. I do not think the former recorders made their lives out to be as sweet as candied chestnuts, I think that Abbey life really was that perfect in those seasons.

The stones are crumbling though they show it not.

I shall halt my writing for now, for the only hopes of the Abbey are pulling at my paws to get me to play outside and I can find no reason why not.

Brother Geoffrey

Recorder of Redwall Abbey

• • •

A rabbit was found in Mossflower by the Dibbuns when we were playing outside the Abbey walls today. Outside the confines of Redwall, the air tastes fresher, and the Abbey badger mother is thankful that I drain the eternal energy of the Dibbuns with my long hiking activities.

The rabbit changed the hiking plan a little.

I decided we were going to take a rest at the edge of the River Moss. As I should have known, Dibbuns do not 'rest' when they are told to. Without meaning to, I fell into a deep sleep. I was only awoken by a mousebabe and hedgebabe pulling at my paws. They led me further around a bend in the river to the rabbit. The first thing I saw was how bloody the creature was, its right ear half gone. The blood no longer flowed out of the wound but dried blood, a dingy crimson color, covered much of the rabbit's brownish fur. The second thing that I noticed was how his left hind leg was twisted at an odd, angle.. Upon closer inspection, the leg was broken. I retrieved a branch from a nearby tree and created a make shift way to drag the rabbit back to the Abbey. The Dibbuns appeared to be scared of the rabbit and kept far behind as we trekked back.

The rabbit is a strange. He is in a sort of daze, constantly sniffing the air, his gaze darting about, as if he is afraid of something. When he became less delirious, he almost knocked out the infirmary keeper vole, Sister Feru, It took half of Skipper's otter holt to strap him to the bed. The rabbit can't talk, or is unwilling to. Sister Feru told me in private that there is something wrong with the rabbit. Something about his eyes, and the way his legs are. I really didn't understand what she was saying. It's out of my paws now. Our mouse Abbot Jesse is speaking with him now. I wonder if he will find out anything more.

I would write more if my lantern light wasn't fading and my ink bottle running dry.

Brother Geoffrey

Recorder of Redwall Abbey

• • •

A gray and dreary mist of weather kept everyone inside today, leaving beasts to find entertainment in the Great Hall. I decided to try reading from the ancient manuscripts of John Churchmouse, from a time when Dibbuns were stolen by an evil fox and Redwall was under siege by fearsome birds.

After only a few passages, the Abbot quietly came over and whispered to stop reading so some of the elders could sleep.

Sleep wasn't to happen for anyone since infirmary keeper Feru, came down into the Great Hall screaming and gasping as she staggered to the ancient, long forgotten tapestry at the wall. She struggled to move between walking on two paws and on all four. The other Abbeybeasts moved in to help her. She was screaming something about Martin, as if she were pleading, her voice cracking into odd squeaks. Feru grew calm under the comforting paws. Until she bit the cellar keeper, Dergger, at least. After that, a blanket was wrapped around her and she was dragged to the infirmary. Nothing wrong could be found. She isn't speaking anymore. She is only squeaking. Only the elders and I know this. They warned me not to tell anyone. Everybeast is on edge.

Brother Geoffrey

Recorder of Redwall Abbey

• • •

The rabbit is gone. We don't think he left the Abbey, though we can't find him either. The bonds that held him in the bed were chewed off.

Feru is not getting better and yet there is no evident sickness. She stares blankly out the window, chewing on her blanket. The volemaid still only squeaks. Her nose is twitching...maybe that is nothing.

Some Long Patrol hares came to visit today. Their jovial moods and boisterous natures have brightened the Abbeybeasts somewhat after Feru's strange fit. Since they were more weathered and experienced beasts than us, Abbot Jesse sought their commanding officer, Brigadier General Vickor, for advice about this ailment. He inspected her, but could find nothing, nor could they explain the odd state of the missing rabbit from what we described. He said it was could be just a touch of midsummer madness and would pass in a few days. I can't shake the grim expression on his face.

The Abbot has declared tomorrow a feast will be held in honor of our Long Patrol guests. It shall be dedicated to the Badger Lord of Salamandastron and to the good health of Feru.

That blackness I mentioned a few days ago, I can't help wonder if there is something dark coming. No, there can't be.

Why was she screaming for Martin?

I hope she gets better soon.

Brother Geoffrey

Recorder of Redwall Abbey


	2. Chapter 2

• • •

As dusk falls across the red stone walls, I am worried. Feru is missing, her bed sheets shredded and items from the medicine cabinet spread everywhere across the room.

The Abbot said to tell no one that she was missing, until after the feast.

I don't know if I can trust him anymore. There is a tone in his voice. I notice he is rubbing his paws together in a most compulsive fashion.

That is not the only detail that is bothering me as I sit write.

When I sought advice from the Skipper, as we walked the shore of the Abbey pond, he responded in his otter accent that in his opinion, there was nothing to worry about. Soon afterwards, as he saw two of his holt coming up from the pond with a fish and shrimp, he lunged at them, growling, ripping the items away, causing it all to flop onto the Abbey grounds. I backed away slowly when his jaws started to rip apart the raw fish. The two other otters didn't appear to find anything wrong with this; they only backed away momentarily, then edged forward to see if they could get a bite.

Skipper stopped by the Gatehouse later, fish entrails all over his maw and the fur of his chest, his coat ripped. He asked if I wanted some shrimp. I declined the raw crustacean. He barked in pleasure as he slurped it out of it's exoskeleton and then cracked the body covering in his jaws.

I wasn't the only one to notice the behavior. One of the Long Patrol hares inquired about it, Fleetfoot was his name, aged veteran and steady head, he appeared worried. He said there were beasts doing strange things in the Abbey, displaying certain odd mannerisms, an interesting thing to hear from a hare.. I could sense he knew something more. Abbot interrupted our conversation by informing us the beginning of the feast was at paw.

The whole population of Redwall and the members of the Long Patrol were there. The feast appeared normal enough the usual arrangement of delicacies, at least until the moles brought out their Deeper 'n ever Pie.

When they cut it open, bugs and worms came out of the flaky crust, the stuffing of the pie. Foremole said it was a new recipe. Not many beasts objected to the pie.

Twitchy, maybe that's the word for it. Everybeast is becoming twitchy in their movements. Much like that rabbit. Much like Feru. They may be connected.

I must talk to General Vickor tomorrow. And our Badger Mother Lissa. They will know what to do.

Geoffrey

Recorder of Redwall

• • •

There is someone outside the Gatehouse door. Scratching, growling, scratching, sniffing. It is knocking. No. Scratching. Why do i write this? Is something out there? Oh Martin help me.

• • •

The rabbit is dead. His neck is broken and laying outside the Gatehouse door. I don't know how it got there. There must have been a scuffle of some sort. Normally, the existence of a dead creature in the Abbey would cause a stir. I don't think it will today.

I'm going to explore the Abbey and find out what is going on.

Geoffrey

Recorder of Redwall Abbey

• • •

The Abbot is not well.

I sit here in Cavern Hole while I write this, the Abbot chewing at my sleeve. He was scared stiff when I entered. He only moved when I neared him, darting into a corner, scrambling on all four paws. He was murmuring something under his breath: Hungry. Martin. Redwall. He repeated his name, Jesse. I retrieved some food from the kitchen, which was strangely quiet.

There is a crash behind the door to the Cellars. I fear what I shall see.

Geoffrey

• • •

Cellarhog Dergger is not fine. He is in the cellar. The Abbot has moved on to eating the candied chestnuts I got for him.

It was completely dark in the cellar. I smelled sweetness. My eyes adjusted. I wish they hadn't. Many barrels were overturned, their contents pooled over the dirt floor. He was in the middle of the floor, in a muddy pit. He had been digging. His spikes and head were covered in mud. A half eaten worm hung from his mouth.

I'm not scared. I should be.

He seems to be fine otherwise.

I need to keep looking. There must be somebeast not affected. It has only been a few days since the rabbit came here. I am convinced he was the reason.

More later. I hear talking.

Geoffrey


	3. Chapter 3

• • •

Vickor is not well. It was he who was talking. He came into Cavern Hole, stave in his paw, and stalked towards the Abbot.

I didn't know what he was doing until was almost too late. I saw his eyes. I tackled him before he could drive the stave into the Abbot. We struggled. He started speaking incoherently as he calmed down. He seemed in right of mind. I helped Vickor to his footpaws and let him lean on me. The stave had injured him in the struggle. That must have snapped him out of the madness.

It did not defeat the madness for long.

Vickor talked and I listened. He cursed about the Abbey. Saying he shouldn't have come. He said it was his fault. He was trying to save his troop, by getting rid of those affected by the unknown. He was crying by the end. He said sorry. The words stopped being understandable.

I don't want to write what I saw. I can't write this. I mustn't.

I need to keep it from my mind. Onto this paper.

His eyes changed. I saw them change. He pushed away. Vickor stood oddly, his legs different, his motions flickered, quick, reflex. A hare from his troop appeared from around the main Abbey building. He. He went. He went to the hare, sniffed. I didn't know what to do. It was a female hare. Vickor mounted upon...

I cannot write this. Oh Martin, Martin help us.

Or are we are beyond help?

I see other Abbeybeasts throughout the Abbey in about the same state. When I find someone not fully affected, they act oblivious to the events around them. I try to convince them that something is wrong. It's pointless. They appear to be fade away the more I speak.

I am in the room below the bell, where the bell rope hangs above. There have been scratches at the door. I'm scared. I must get to the Dibbuns.

Geoffrey

• • •

Our Badger Mother Lissa is not well.

What follows, I don't know how to write it. I see and I don't know what to say, what to write. I am past being scared. Being scared has come already. I am past scared. My mind has bared emotion. I see and don't feel.

The tears still fall. The Dibbuns ask me why. I can't answer. I smile for them. I must keep them from seeing.

The rabbit, the dead rabbit was in the jaws of Lissa when I came around the corner to the gatehouse door.

Part of the rabbit at least.

He was everywhere. Ripped apart. Red on the chest of Lissa. In her mouth was red. Red everywhere. She chewed. Licked.

I wanted to scream.

She did not exist. Nobeast existed anymore. The badger only watched me. The badger was not Lissa. It watched me enter the gatehouse as it ate the rabbit.

The Dibbuns were sleeping. They knew nothing of the rabbit and the badger.

They said Lissa had come to say good-bye when I was gone.

Geoffrey

• • •

The Dibbuns are fine.

They are fine. I read them some from one of the scrolls. They are calm.

The bottom of the tapestry is tattered. Where is Martin?

Please help.

Geoffrey

• • •

Fleetpaw is asleep.

I can't believe he lasted this long. He is still conscious of himself. He was injured when he knocked. He told me. He told me what he knew. He told me what they saw.

There was a warren not far from here, further down the River Moss. Rabbits lived there. It was abandoned when they found it. They found some beasts there. There was something not right about them. They couldn't speak. They were primitive. Like the beasts here in the abbey. I do not know what to do.

He is waking.

Geoffrey

• • •

In the depths of everybeast, within their soul and being, behind their awareness and intellect, lies their bare nature and instinct. This exists to help in times of trouble, to give choice when none can be chosen, to attempt that one last chance of survival.

I remember those words of my predecessor, the prior Gatekeeper and Recorder of Redwall Abbey, Fredrick, the wisest mouse I ever knew.

He never mentioned the darker side of this inner being, if it ever came to cover all else.

It has come.

Fleetfoot is gone, what remains is a nameless creature. It looks like him, but is him no longer.

Geoffrey

• • •

Within a few days, the Abbey has changed.

I don't know how to say this. I have been looking through scrolls and I find nothing. There is no way out. It is dangerous outside. They no longer think. They are only action and motion to react. The Dibbuns are with me in the gatehouse.

No way to help. The stories mean nothing now. The Abbey survive so much.. The stories worthless.

I need to lay down. I fear-

• • •

Brother Geoffrey, Recorder of Redwall Abbey

Brother Geoffrey, Recorder of Redwall Abbey

Brother Geoffrey, Recorder of Redwall Abbey

Brother Geoffrey, Recorder of Redwall Abbey

Brother Geoffrey, Recorder of Redwall Abbey

Brother Geoffrey, Recorder of Redwall Abbey

Brother Geo-

• • •

It is coming for me.

I need to remember.

Remember.

I, Recorder of R-

• • •

I saw Martin last night in dream. He talked. Told things. Only heard squeaks. Must have been important. Nice day. I keep forgetting things. Kinda scared. I happy though. Odd. Sun is out. I need to write more. Need to write. My paw cannot right. Hard to breathe. Martin answered in dream. Nice dream.

• • •

I hungry. Must write. Writing. Writing. what I writing? Why writing. Write good. Ink is on paws. It quiet in Abbey. Very quiet. Many have left. The Abbey is quiet. The little ones fine. All be fine. Quiet. The moss growing stones. Stones red. Fine. Sun nice.

Not forget. I remember. Remember.

• • •

I need note this I Geeofery i record i no know redrock he come take away need want happy now scare happ-

• • •

i finish right now no more right fine good wrong good fine nut good

• • •

from life end to beginning of new welcome to gates of redwall abbey

end

• • •

"What do you make of it, Rips?"

Major Sandripper, of the Long Patrol, didn't answer, only noticed how forced the penmanship was in the end, barely legible even to his exceptional eyesight. Tears of unknown origin riddled the last part of the parchment roll, ink smudging and causing blurred pawprints over the writing.

"Rips?"

"How did you find this again?"

"Just lying at the edge of a large oak outside of camp," Sergeant Quinn said, his voice not hiding his own wariness, "I don't understand what it means, sir."

The hare finally rose his gaze for the first time since starting to read the document. He spoke, "Vickor, Fleetpaw, and a dozen hares...impossible. We need to be sure. We must get to that Abbey."

"I don't know if that's safe if..."

"That is not your decision Sergeant Quinn. We were sent to find out what happened to Vickor's company, and we are going to find out. This document is not proof that anything has happened to them."

"It has been two seasons."

Two seasons. The truth was Major Rips didn't want to admit how disheartening this conveniently found parchment sounded.

He pushed that away, "We are only a days march from the Abbey. We shall be there by twilight on the marrow if we leave at dawn. No questions Quinn. I've made up my mind. For all we know they are there right now, stuffing their faces on the grand Redwall fare, enjoying their extended leave of absence."

This didn't seem to comfort either Quinn or Rips himself. Quinn opened his maw, as if he wanted to object or state some other thought. Nothing came out and the silence sank in until the hare just saluted and exited the tent, out into the dark outside.

Rips reread the last few entries of the supposed records of Redwall Abbey. Questions he couldn't even find the words to ask floated among his now troubled thoughts.

They would find out tomorrow.

His lantern flicked out.


	4. Chapter 4

• • •

A general sensation of wariness set over the two dozen Long Patrol hares as they marched the next morning.

Rips cursed under his breath. He knew what had happened: Quinn had told everybeast of the parchment. Even he had to admit, after reading those records, every shadow and creak of a tree branch and rustle of leaves caused a feather of disrest to brush down the spine, speculating what lay in the woods on each side of the path. More than once, Rips could swear he saw the flicker of eyes in the sunlight, staring out from the uncharacteristic darkness of Mossflower.

Soon, Rips refused to let himself even investigate any sense of being watched. The group of Long Patrol hares marched in a closer and closer formation to each other, becoming quite nervous, despite their brave Salamandastron spirit.

Then they saw it, set against the sky of mixed gold and red rubies and purple satin, set in a hue of dark red shadow.

• • •

In the dim light, as they neared the Abbey entrance. They saw the gate was half open: still closed just enough that anything could be hiding on the other side.

Rips was the first to step nearer to the gate, and he saw the scratches in the woodwork. His company of weathered Long Patrol hares were fidgety and jumpy, standing in the shadow of this building that should have brought them hope. Instead, the shadows felt to be scrabbling at their souls.

As Rips pushed the gate further open, the hinges creaked, enough to set the fur on the back of all the hare's necks to stand on end.

Their hearts froze, when they saw a shadowed form standing there in the gloom in the gate causeway, just revealed by the opening of the door.

The eyes of this being glowed, collecting the dying light of sunset, cutting into the minds of all the hare's that saw them.

Contradiction smashed the moment as a completely harmless looking young otter stepped out from the gloom and warmly grasped Major Rips' paw.

"Oh my, you must be members of the Long Patrol. We've read all about the Long Patrol and now you are here. It is an honor that you should come to our Abbey. Redwall is always welcoming to any prospective guests to nurture and care for as long as they stay, mateys."

Everything gloomy and sinister was forgotten as Rips listened to this young otter's jovial and excited dialogue. Young was a good description, the beast couldn't be gauged as long past Dubbinhood. "Who are..."

"Skipper of Redwall Abbey, sir. Actually, still Caskade, though appointed as Skipper also if you require that information," the otter explained. "Please, you all shouldn't have to stand here as the cool of night embraces. Come in if you may. I'm sure we can compose a meal for your company, no matter your extent of appetite you shall be appeased. Come, come..."

The otter motioned them to come in and disappeared into Redwall Abbey.

Rips turned to his company, a mess of mangled thought trying to smooth itself in his head. He shrugged, sighed, and motioned for the hares of the Long Patrol to enter.

As he passed the gates, he still couldn't shake the feeling they were heading into the unknown.

• • •

The meal was modest, nothing extravagant, good though, casual Redwall fare.

Rip could see that the number of beasts was very low and those Abbeybeasts here were young like the otter, the oldest of them maybe just four seasons past Dibbunhood. Nothing seemed to be wrong with them, the opposite appeared true. They were blissfully happy and talkative and ever ready to show their guests the meaning of Redwall hospitality. Rips became so caught up in their optimism and good cheer that he almost forgot the intentions of their mission.

It was late into the night by the time he got to asking whether the Abbot was available.

"Sorry Miter Rips, we haven't elected one yet, you see. Been busy keeping up with the chores and upkeeping of the Abbey. Needs some work in many places, we were going to start repairing the tapestry tomorrow. But if you are staying, we would be glad to show you around..." a young mousemaid, Tula, said.

"What happened to the tapestry?"

She shrugged, "Oh, the bottom is torn up a little. We decided it deserved to be fixed up, in honor of our guardian, Martin."

"Martin…"

"Oh yes, a few seasons ago, we were visited by Martin the Warrior, in a dream, and he left us a message that we were the Chosen, to uphold the name of Redwall Abbey and to rebuild the Abbey to be a beacon of hope for the seasons to come." She took a breath of reflection, then asked, "Miter Rips, what brings you to our Abbey this season? We know it is not a simple trail to follow and whatever you seek we are willing to help."

The hare didn't want to bring up the parchment, the past that it lay out, the disaster it portrayed, the truth which these young beasts didn't seem to know. How could they? There were only Dibbuns and in some ways they still were. Rips couldn't bring himself to crack that innocence, and he knew the rest of his company would not also. He caught the look from Quinn, that expression of a smile, telling so much more, that this was a place not to be marred by darkness they would bring in investigation.

Tula was still talking, "...if Geoffrey hadn't helped us this last winter season of the Frigid Breeze..."

"Geoffrey?" Rips exclaimed, despite his resent resolution.

"Sorry, you wouldn't know of Geoffrey, I should have explained, or better yet, we can introduce you to him."

Rips' mind was spinning, "Oh...yes."

Tula called the young Skipper to retrieve a lantern and they headed up the Cavern Hole stairs to the Great Hall.

"I would have introduced him when you came, but he was still out in the wood somewhere," Skipper explained, "He always comes back every few days or so. Hopefully he there now to meet you."

"Oh he's a wonderful squirrel," Tula said, grasping onto the hare's paw, "He taught us much about how to be proper Abbeybeasts and how to survive and showed us the stories, those wonderful stories."

"Aye, he is a great squirrel," Skipper agreed.

Rips remained silent the whole way, as they walked though the Great Hall, over the moonlit Abbeygrounds, until they stood in front of the gatehouse. The inside was dark. This didn't cause reaction from Tula or Skipper. Tula stepped up, opened the door halfway, and knocked upon it. She then placed something on the ground just outside the doorway, Rips saw it was a candied chestnut.  
"What...?" Rips began, the Skipper placed a paw over the hare's mouth.

"Geoffrey is startled easily at this time of night," he whispered.

The seconds passed slowly. A sound came from within the Gatehouse, a creaking and sound of rustling papers. A face peaked around the doorframe, its nose twitching, a few jerky moments as it looked the creatures over. The creature, a squirrel, Rips could now see, leapt out of the Gatehouse onto the candied chestnut, and rotated it in his paws, chewing away at it quickly with its sizable incisors. There was no sign of humanity in the beast, no clothes, no thought, just action.

Tula held out another chestnut. The squirrel cautiously leapt to it, sniffed her paw, and took it, going about eating it about the same way as the first, now looking at Rips.

"Geoffrey..." he murmured.

Skipper explained, "Geoffrey doesn't say a word. We think he knows more than he shows. We can't remember really what happened in our Abbey and we think that Geoffrey does." Skipper rubbed the squirrels head.

"Oh," Rips said, he knew now why the parchment had mysteriously appeared at their camp. These Abbeybeasts, practically Dibbuns didn't understand the full story, and they wouldn't if they had just found he parchment. Somehow Geoffrey had known to...

"Is something wrong miter Rips?"

The hare paused, looked to the squirrel, who was looking at him intently.

"I have a story to tell..."

"Really?" said Tula, "Could Geoffrey listen? He loves hearing us when we read stories."


End file.
